King of Ice and Fire
by TheDragonHero147
Summary: (A Rewritten The Dragon Prince) Basically, Ned claims Jon as his bastard son, but tells Cateyln the truth that Jon is the legitimate son of Prince Rhaegar and his deceased sister, Lyanna Stark.


**THE KING OF ICE AND FIRE**

* * *

_His sworn brothers waited for him below, but Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning and knight of the Kingsguard, had one small errand to perform before he descended the tower._

_As he slowly walked up the narrow staircase, he looked down at himself and absently adjusted the fastening for his breastplate, with his intricate suit of white enameled scale armour. The greatsword Dawn was slung over his back. The White Cloaks, the elite bodyguards of House Targaryen founded by Aegon the Conqueror. The order which he had been proudly apart of for almost ten years, guarding King Aerys and carrying out his orders even if it conflicted with Arthur's morals. The Kingsguard protected the King and his family from harm. They were not meant to question the King._

_What a good job that they had done. Now, it seemed all was lost. Rhaegar was dead, slain by Robert Baratheon at the Trident. Aerys had been killed by his own sworn brother, Ser Jaime Lannister - stabbed in the back. Arthur should have expected something like this to happen. He had trusted the boy, had grown to respect him like a brother. But he was a Lannister. Tywin had ordered the deaths of Princess Elia and her children - Rhaegar's children. Rhaenys - a girl of only two years, and Aegon, a boy at his mother's breasts torn to pieces by the Mountain that Rides._

_Arthur had never been the person to hold a grudge, but the hatred he now felt for the Lannister's of Casterly Rock raged deep in his heart. One day, he would make them all pay for their crimes._

_He suddenly recalled the last time his sworn brother's and himself had seen Rhaegar, who had left alone on horseback for King's Landing to protect his family's dynasty, mobilizing the available Loyalist forces. Rhaegar had ordered the the three knights to remain at the Tower of Joy to guard Lyanna and his unborn child, something Arthur had argued fiercely against._

_Arthur should have been there at the Prince's side when he faced Robert Baratheon's warhammer on the fords of the River Trident. He should have been at King's Landing defending the city against Tywin Lannister and his forces. He should have been protecting his king. He should have been watching over the Princess and he children. He should have been helping his friend. He felt he could have made some sort of difference. Perhaps he could have slain Robert before he had engaged Rhaegar? Arthur felt so guilty, so useless._

_Arthur vividly remembered when Rhaegar had mounted his silver horse in his black-and-red armour, while Arthur had pleaded for the Prince to allow the Sword of Morning to accompany him. Ser Gerold had berated him for his persistence, but Arthur did not care._

_Rhaegar's silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple - a strange, beautiful colour, eyes that held such sadness and melancholy. He had looked down at Arthur with a strange expression, as if he had known his fate._

_"Promise me, Arthur, to watch over Lyanna and our child. If anything should happen to me, give me your word - on your honour as a Dayne, on your honour as the Sworn of Morning, on the honour as a knight of the Kingsguard - that you, alongside side Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, will protect my second wife and child from any harm till the rest of your days." Rhaegar had said, in his iron tones. "From all harm."_

_Damned Rhaegar to all the Seven Hells, for his fantasies of prophecies and songs and the rebirth of dragons and ice. Had all this death and misery been worth the price? That was indeed the question._

_"I swear, my prince, I will guard Lady Lyanna and your child." Arthur had finally - hesitantly - sworn. _

_And then Rhaegar smiled, before reining in, turning his horse and galloping away. _

_Early sunlight was warming the bedchamber as he entered. He saw Lyanna Stark gazing out the window, as she had often used to do, before the news came of the Trident and all of the life had left her eyes. One arm was resting on the ledge to hold herself upright; in the other, she cradled a small bundle wrapped in furs. Lady Lyanna was still beautiful, despite the complications of childbirth. A slim, sad girl of sixteen years._

_"You should be in bed, Lady Stark," Arthur said softly._

_Her nightgown, stiff with dried blood, barely moved as she turned. The babe was asleep, Arthur saw, as he looked for the first time on the newly born son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. True, the infant boy favoured his mother in appearance, but he was the last living son of the Crowned Prince, and Arthur's rightful king. The boy, whose name Lyanna had not decided, was very quiet_

_The Dragon must have Three Heads, Rhaegar had said when Arthur had confronted him on his decision to elope with Lyanna Stark._

_"It's been almost two years since I last saw my brother Ned, but even at a distance I knew him by the way he rides," Lyanna said, managing a weak smile. "He still leans forward too much." Then she noticed the armor Arthur had put on, and the helm he carried under his arm. Her gaze came to rest on the hilt of the greatsword jutting out over his left shoulder, and her expression changed at once._

_"You mean to fight him," she said, coldly, accusingly._

_Arthur Dayne hesitated. He did not want to fight Eddard Stark. He respected the man immensely for his strict code of honour and justice, and how he had fought with the Usurper on the death of the Princess and her children. His sister Ashara was fond of Ned Stark as well. That had not stopped her from bedding his brother._

_"I do not want too, my lady," He said. "But I fear I may have to, if Lord Stark does not comply."_

_"Don't," she said. The fever made her eyes dazzlingly bright. "Don't," she repeated. She looked as if she would faint with the effort of staying on her feet. "Let me go home with him. The war is over. Rhaegar is dead. There is nothing left for me here."_

_"Rhaegar entrusted me with this child's life," he reminded her. The child he did not live to see born. Arthur's jaw tightened as he thought of the prince's other children, murdered during the sack of King's Landing. They say little Rhaenys tried to hide under her father's bed, but they dragged her out all the same, and The Mountain ripped baby Aegon from his mother's breast. And to think that that monster had been knighted by Rhaegar himself, to only be repaid by having his wife raped, killed and his son butchered. They laid the bodies in front of the Iron Throne wrapped in red Lannister cloaks to mask the blood. I was not there. I could not save them, my prince!_

_Arthur clenched his mailed hands into fists. "I will never allow him to fall into the Usurper's hands," he swore to her, swore to Rhaegar, swore to himself._

_Lyanna glared at him. "Nor will Ned hand my son over to be butchered by the likes of Gregor Clegane," she said, fiercely. "He is a monster, that son of a bitch." Arthur half-believed she would take on The Mountain herself if given a chance and a sword. A she-wolf will tear out the throat of anything that threatens her pups, and the babe was half-a-wolf himself._

_"I know Ned Stark would never do anything to his nephew," He said. "Still, he is the Usurper's best friend. The line between friendship and family is not as clear as it once was."_

_"How can you believe that?" The she-wolf clutched the infant close. She did not look as feverous as he had thought. Perhaps she might be better? "If your family was threatened by Rhaegar or the Mad King, would you side with the Targaryens, despite your vow."_

_"Rhaegar would never-"_

_"I know, but if?" _

_Arthur did not answer. It made him feel terrible inside. He had sworn a vow to serve the Targaryens for life, but was blood thicker than loyalty?_

_"Ned would never betray me like that. No matter what my actions had done to our family."_

_He shook his head. "If Robert learned that your brother let a Targaryen child live, especially Rhaegar's trueborn son and heir, he'd have him executed for treason," he said, and she paled at the thought._

_"Robert would never...he is a lot of things, but he would never harm a hair on Ned's body. He loves him too much for that." Lyanna reasoned._

_"When you're well enough to travel," he continued, "I mean to take you across the Narrow Sea. You can be a mother to your son there, out of Robert's reach." It was half the truth at least. Ser Gerold had suggested they would take the boy to Braavos where he might be safe. They would have to find Queen Rhaella, Prince Viserys and the Queen's unborn child, as well as Ser Willem Darry. In his mind, he remembered the smiling faces of Prince Lewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry, his sworn brothers, his friends._

_However, he did not know whether Lady Lyanna would live or die. The maester had said she was improving, but that she could die before the break of dawn. She might die, and even though Arthur was indifferent to the girl, he did not want his king to grow up without a mother's love. He would do anything in his power to help her._

_Tears began to glisten on her face, startling him. "Please," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "don't kill my brother. If you ever loved Rhaegar, let me go home."_

_He would have slapped her if he had been that person. How could she question his love for Rhaegar, a man he had known longer than she. But he understood her concern._

_"My lady, I will try to avoid unpleasantness with your brother if I can. But I will not let him leave with Rhaegar's son to be given to Robert at the first chance. If he tries, I will kill him. That I swear."_

_"Please, just let me go home. Let my son and I go back to Winterfell." Lyanna Stark breathed._

_"I swore an oath to Rhaegar to protect your son and his mother at all times. Despite my own person grievances, I will upheld my vow for Rhaegar, and his family. Robert Baratheon will kill you. I am sorry, my lady. If their was any other way... if I could make peace with your brother, I would gladly take it."_

_Taking one last look at the girl and the child he had sworn to protect, he turned abruptly and walked away. Guilt rose like bile in his throat as he swept down the stairs, hearing Lyanna Stark's soft tears and the quiet mumblings of Arthur's infant charge._

_Once he resumed his post alongside his brothers, seeing Stark and his companions from the distance riding towards them, he said to Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell. "If we can avoid any needless violence, then do so. Ned Stark is a good man who will listen to reason unlike his traitorous Stormlord of a friend."_

_"Arthur, do you really want to take that risk?" Ser Gerold asked._

_"It is Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna's son's uncle, and her brother," Ser Oswell said. "If you cannot trust your family to listen, what can you do?"_

_"Who can you trust?" Ser Gerold muttered._

_Arthur truly did not know. He readied himself and stared straight ahead, preparing himself for what was to come._

* * *

**BRAN**

* * *

It is the ninth year of summer. Seven-year-old Bran Stark was traveling with a party of twenty-one men, including his father Lord Eddard Stark, to see the king's justice done. This is the first time that he was allowed to join, a prospect that filled him with nervous excitement. Bran's older brother Robb had thought the man to be executed must be a wildling sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, which made Bran think of the tales Old Nan has told him about wildlings. Bran had asked Jory Cassel about who his lord father would be executing, Jory had shaken his head solemnly as if he did not wish to discuss it. However, when Bran had asked Ser Arthur Dayne when the knight had held back to ride beside Bran and his brothers, the Sword of Morning had merely chuckled, before telling them it was a deserter from the Night's Watch.

What Ser Arthur had said was true, The man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting to the King's Justice was a young, scrawny man with disheveled, dirty blonde hair, dressed all in black, the same as any brother of the Night's Watch with the exception that his furs were ragged and greasy. The man, no older than thirty, had big brown eyes filled with such apparent fear, as if he had seen something in the distance that had terrified him to no end. Bran had at first assumed it was the fear of execution, but he then realised it was more serious than that.

His lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged across before them. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, Bran between them on his pony. He felt the stare of Ser Arthur and the other men mounted behind them at their necks, and Bran straightened himself, trying to appear more older than seven. Like he had seen this before when in actuality, it was his first time.

Lord Eddard Stark sat solemnly on his horse, long dark brown hair stirring in the wind. He was a lean man with a long face. His closely trimmed beard was shot with whine, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes.

"White Walkers, the White Walkers," The man was muttering to himself, as Bran's lord father gave a command for two of his guardsmen to drag the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the centre of the square. "I saw them. I saw them, yes I did."

When the man stood in front of Lord Stark, he said, "I know I broke my oath. I know that I am a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but..." the man shook away the strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes. Bran wondered what he was going to warn them about.

"I saw what I saw. The White Walkers." Bran saw his father exchange subtle eye contact with both Rodrik and Jory. Eddard Stark's face was hard and neutral. Theon Greyjoy stifled a snort, while Bran watched on curiously. White Walkers, or the Others as they were commonly named. He heard about them in the old tales of the Long Night and the Age of Heroes, of brave men raising up arms to defeat the undead armies of ice. "If you can get word back to my family. To tell them that I was a coward. That I..."

Bran did not recall much of what had been said afterwards, his mind buzzing with tales from Old Nan. Lord Eddard Stark nodded his head at the guardsmen, who forced the man's head down onto the hard black wood. Eddard Stark dismounted and Theon brought forth the greatsword, "Ice," The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and as dark as smoke. The only other Valyrian-crafted sword Bran had ever laid his eyes on was the greatsword Dawn, bestowed upon Ser Arthur as the Sword of the Morning, a blade as pale as milkglass. Both sword were present, Dawn slung over Ser Arthur's back. Both had an edge unlike any other weapon.

Eddard Stark took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "I the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm-" Bran turned his head slightly to see Ser Arthur bristle slightly at those words. Bran knew that the knight had served under the Mad King's Kingsguard, and was reputed for being one of the greatest knights that had ever lived. Bran could not compare with other knights, but from what he had seen first hand in the training yards, he knew that bold claim was most likely true.

Even Bran knew that Ser Arthur had never forgiven King Robert for "usurping" the throne of House Targaryen, and for slaying Prince Rhaegar, his closest friend.

"-Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

Bran's bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. "Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."

Bran did not look away as his father took off the man's head with a single stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow and drank it eagerly.

The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Theon's feet. Greyjoy was a lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head, and kicked it away, smirking at Robb, Jon and Bran's direction.

"Asshole," Jon muttered, low so only Robb, Bran and his uncle could hear. Robb smiled faintly, while Arthur Dayne closed his eyes and breathed in, his lips curling up. Jon and his uncle were similar in personality for many ways - one being in which they did not like or trust Theon Greyjoy. Jon put a hand on Bran's shoulder. Bran looked over at his bastard brother. "You did well," Jon told him, smiling slightly with a solemn tone. Jon was fourteen, an old hand at justice.

"Yes, good job Bran. I am proud of you. So is Father, I can tell." Robb grinned. Robb had a more lively and cheerful personality, but he was just as devoted to Father's values of honour and justice than even Jon himself.

Bran shrugged, his mind coming back to the head relieving itself from the body.

It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell. Bran rode ahead with his brothers, well ahead of the main party, his pony struggling hard to keep with Robb's brown horse and Jon's black horse.

"The deserter died bravely," Robb said. Bran's eldest brother was big and broad, with a stocky build and growing everyday according to Maester Luwin and their lady mother. Robb was very handsome, at least according to all the whispers Bran had heard from the female members of their household whenever they passed by at Winterfell, giggling and blushing whenever Robb had greeted them. He had inherited their mother's colouring - the fair skin, high cheekbones, the thick auburn hair and the blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. "At least he had some courage."

"No, there was no courage," Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, said quietly. "He was rank with fear, for all to notice and stare. You could see it in his eyes, Stark."

Jon's eyes were a grey that bordered on black. Sometimes though, they would look completely black by the lamplight, and if one looked closely at the light of dusk, Jon's eyes would look almost a dark shade of lilac purple, somewhat similar to the eye colour of his uncle, Ser Arthur, though the knight's eyes were more favoured to violet. An ever-changing cataclysm of colours, Theon had once joked.

Jon was of the same age as Robb, but they did not look alike. Bran's bastard brother's appearance favoured more on his Stark side. He has dark brown hair that fell to his eyes, and was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick while his half-brother was strong and fast. Robb was stronger with the lance, while Jon was a better swordsman and horserider. Robb had elegant features while Jon's were sharp and strong.

Robb was not impressed. "The Others take his eyes." he swore. "He died well."

"Maybe they did. Who really knows if he was telling the truth or at not. Fact remains, he died a coward. If the White Walkers did exist, he should have warned his brothers at the Wall."

"They wouldn't have believed them. The Others are nothing more than monsters in the stories. Though that slate look of terror on his face... anyway, it doesn't matter now. Race you to the bridge, instead?"

"Done." Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, flashing Bran an apologetic look, and they galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent.

Bran did not try and follow, for his pony would not keep up. Robb had been right about that scared expression on the man's face, and Bran thought about them. After a while, the sound of Robb's laughter receded, and the woods grew quiet again.

So deep in his thought, he never heard the rest of the party until his father moved up to ride beside him. "Are you well, Bran?" He asked, not unkindly.

"Yes, Father," Bran told him. Wrapped in his furs and leather, mounted on his great warhorse, his lord father looked over him like a giant. "Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid."

"Both keen individual observation," he father said. "But what do you think?"

Bran thought for a moment. "Can a man still be brave it he is afraid."

"Bran, that's really the only time a man _can _be brave." Bran looked to the left and saw Ser Arthur pull up next to him. His father and Jon's uncle had taken Robb and Jon's respective spots, it seemed. Ser Arthur gave Bran an encouraging smile, his violet eyes luminous and muted, thick silver-blonde hair falling to his soldiers. Fifteen years in the North away from Dorne and the South had given Ser Arthur a rugged, hardened and lean look to his face. Still, his handsome features were still as prominent as his fighting skills, at least according to Sansa and Jeyne Poole. "Is that not true, Lord Stark?"

"It is indeed, Ser," Lord Eddard looked down at Bran. "Do you understand why I had to execute the man?"

"He was a deserter." Bran answered.

"Indeed. The man was an oathbreaker, a deserter of the Night's Watch. No man is more dangerous. The deserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile. But you mistake me. The question was not why the man had to die, but why _I _must do it."

Bran had no answer for that. "King Robert has a headsman," he said, uncertainly.

Arthur humphed loudly at that, and Lord Eddard shot him an icy look. The Sword of the Morning shrugged and looked off in the distance, intent on looking anywhere but Bran's father. Eddard Stark frowned, but did not comment. Bran found it amusing.

Father turned back to him. "King Robert does," his father admitted. "As did the Targaryen kings before him. Yet our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him and yourself to look him in the eye and hear his final words.

"One day, Bran, you will be Robb's bannerman, holding a keep of your own for your brother and your king, with a wife and children, and justice will fall to you. When that day comes, you must take no pleasure in the task, but neither must you look away. A ruler who hides behind paid executioners like Ser Ilyn soon forgets what death is."

"Your father is correct, Bran," Arthur Dayne said. "When I came to Winterfell with your father, mother, the infants Robb and my nephew Jon to live in the North and watch over my sister's son, I truly did not understand the Old Way of the North at first, but over time, I have come to realise that what the North follows in traditions and values is better than what the Southern lords practice. If you cannot bear to do the execution, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. It is better this way."

"Father, was that man telling the truth about the White Walkers?" Bran asked suddenly.

His lord father smiled, though he seemed troubled by that question. "_He _seemed to believe it, I have no doubt. The Others-White Walkers may have once threatened the realm long before this land was called Westeros, but they are long gone and never coming back. Still, he seemed so sure of himself..."

"Maybe a wildling raid? Mance Rayder preparing an attack to breach the Wall?" Ser Arthur suggested.

"Maybe, maybe not Time will tell."

That was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted at them. _"Father, Uncle Arthur, Bran, come quickly, see what Robb has found!" _And then he was gone again.

Jory Cassel rode up beside his father. "Trouble, my lord Stark?"

"Beyond a doubt. Robb and Jon always seem to get themselves into these type of troubling situations. Some desirable to youngsters, some not so." his lord father said. "Come now, let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now." He sent his horse into a trot. Jory, Arthur and Bran and the rest came after.

The found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. Robb stood knee-deep in the no, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his red-brown hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices.

Jory and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys. Jory's sword was already out. "Robb, get away from it!" He called as his horse reared under him.

Robb looked up, grinning from the bundle in his arms. "She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory,"

Bran was intensely curious now. He dismounted alongside their father beside the bridge. Bran jumped and ran to them.

"What in seven hells is it?" Greyjoy said as Bran neared.

"A wolf," Robb told him.

"A freak," Greyjoy said. "Look at the _size of her."_

Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume. Bran glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it that made him gasp. It was bigger than his pony, twice the size of the largest hound in his father's kennel.

"It's no freak," Jon said calmly. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."

Theon Greyjoy said, "There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years."

"I see one now," Jon replied.

Bran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb's arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb's chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpering sound. Bran reached out hesitantly. "Go on," Robb told him. " You can touch him."

Bran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jon said, "Here you go." His half brother put a second pup into his arms. "There are five of them." Bran sat down in the snow and hugged the wolf pup to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his cheek.

"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of horse. "I like it not."

"It is a sign," Jory said.

"A sign of what? Direwolves south of the Wall? I am surprised they managed to break through into the Northern lands." Ser Arthur said, crouching down and examining the she-wolf.

Father frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?"

"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before their father had asked."There, just under the jaw."

His father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.

"An antler of a stag, from the throat of a direwolf." Ser Arthur said in a tense voice.

A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak. Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did  
not understand. His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow.

"I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.

"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."

"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."

"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."

Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.

"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran."

The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."

"Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, like the lord he would someday be. "We will keep these pups."

"You cannot do that, boy," said Harwin, who was Hullen's son.

"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.

Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold  
and starvation."

"No!" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his father.

"Lord Eddard," Ser Arthur said. "Are you so sure that killing them would be prudent? The litter are only babes. They are dangerous, but this is not a sight one would see in a lifetime. A wolf this large..."

Robb resisted stubbornly. "Ser Rodrik's red bitch whelped again last week," he said. "It was a small litter, only two live pups. She'll have milk enough."

"She'll rip them apart when they try to nurse." Father told him.

"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was very strange of Jon to call father that, so formal and collected. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. If anyone could convince Father of anything, it would be Jon. Father always listened to Jon whenever Bran's bastard brother made his case, no matter how hopeless a situation appeared or what was happening. Most of the time, he listened and followed Jon's reasonable suggestion. He gave Jon a lot more freedom than his trueborn children. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."

"What of it, Jon?"

"You have five trueborn children," Jon said. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."

Bran saw his father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what h is brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted him  
self. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not himself, the bastard called Snow.

Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.

Jon smiled. "Lady Cateyln and yourself have always made me feel welcome at Winterfell. You both have treated me as a mother and father would love their son when you did not need too, especially my lady. I am eternally grateful for that, and I love you both and would do anything for House Stark and its members. But the direwolf is the sigil of your house, and I am not a Stark."

Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Bran looked at Jon's uncle,who was gazing at his nephew with a fierce look of pride and approval. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that."

"Me too!" Bran echoed.

The lord weighed Bran and Robb long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?"

Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm tongue.

"You must train them as well," their father said. "You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man's arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?"

"Do you really think your children would neglect or brutalize them, Lord Eddard?" Ser Arthur raised a doubtful eyebrow. "They are their father's children after all."

"Yes, Father," Bran said.

"Yes," Robb agreed. "We want this.

"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do."

"They won't die," Robb said. "We won't let them die."

"Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."

It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him.

Jon ruffled Bran's auburn hair once they began their slow ride. "Good job Bran."

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked.

"Can't you hear it?"

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to someth  
ing else.

"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.

"He looks so different from his brothers and sisters," Ser Arthur remarked. "Look, he's eyes are already open and his appearance is much different from the others. I wonder..."

"An albino," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."

Jon Snow gave his father's ward a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs to me."

"As it should be, my dear nephew." Ser Arthur said, giving Jon a clap on the back. "We would expect nothing different."

Jon grinned at his uncle, his grey eyes dimmed with joy, before Bran and the party began their journey back to Winterfell.

* * *

**CATEYLN**

* * *

Catelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The greatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as midnight.

"Ned," she called softly.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Catelyn," he said. His voice was distant and formal. "Where are the children?"

He would always ask her that. "In the kitchen, arguing about names for the wolf pups. Only Jon and Sansa have decided on their names - Ghost and Lady respectively, good names that suit their wolves I think." She spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool, her back to the weirwood. She could feel the eyes watching her, but she did her best to ignore them. "Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite sure."

"Is he afraid?" Ned asked.

"A little," she admitted. "He is only three."

Ned frowned. "He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming."

"Yes," Catelyn agreed.

"The man died well, I'll give him that," Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing  
the metal to a dark glow. "I was glad for Bran's sake. You would have been proud of Bran."

"I am always proud of Bran," Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. She could see the rippling deep within the steel, where the metal had been folded back on itself a hundred times in the forging. Catelyn had no love for swords, but she could not deny that Ice had its own beauty.

"He was the fourth this year," Ned said grimly. "The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him. The Others, ranging attacks, the undead walking," He sighed.

He slid Ice back into its sheath. "You did not come here to tell me crib t  
ales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my lady?"

Catelyn took her husband's hand. "There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself." There was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. "I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead."

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would. In his youth, Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father to him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon.  
When the Mad King Aerys Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon-and-falcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect.

And one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and Ned stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the  
daughters of Lord Hoster Tully.

"Jon . . ." he said. "Is this news certain?"

"It was the king's seal, and the letter is in Robert's own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain."

"That is some small mercy, I suppose," he said. She could see the grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. "Your sister," he said. "And Jon  
's boy. What word of them?"

"The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie," Catelyn said. "I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband's place, not hers. Lord Jon's memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends  
around her."

"Your uncle waits in the Vale, does he not? Jon named him Knight of the Gate, I'd heard."

Catelyn nodded. "Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is  
some comfort, but still . . ."

"Go to her," Ned urged. "Take the children. Robb can stay in Winterfell attending to his duties as heir. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief."

"Would that I could," Catelyn said. "The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out."

It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes.

"Robert is coming here?" When she nodded, a smile broke across his face.

And then, as expected, his smile turned into a look of dread. "Gods, Robert is coming here? To Winterfell? Oh gods, Jon and Arthur."

Cateyln wished she could have shared in his joy, but it was as he said. She loved Jon as her own son, for he was so much like Ned, and Arthur she respected immensely for his commitment to his vows. But Robert's visit to Winterfell would prove immensely problematic, especially if he somehow saw the connection between all three of them.

The woman Prince Rhaegar had "abducted", the man who had sworn to protect House Targaryen and had never given up on his vows, and the trueborn prince known to the world as Ned Stark's bastard. Many times in her life, Cateyln wished that Ned had chosen to say that Jon was Brandon Stark's bastard, instead of his. Brandon would have understood, for he would not want Ned's honour slandered in the public eye. She prayed that was the case.

"Every day he grows to look more like Rhaegar than I would like." Ned said to himself.

Cateyln had only seen the Crowned Prince once in her life - at the blasted tourney of Harrenhal, that her mother's family had hosted - but she knew that what Eddard was saying was true. True, Jon had the Stark colouring similar to how her Robb favoured the Tully appearance. But if you looked closely, you could see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen across Jon's face. Just like Robb was the same with her husband.

"What are we going to do, Eddard?" Cateyln asked.

"If we keep Jon out of the King and his retainers way for their visit, then perhaps no one will notice? He looks more like you than Rhaegar."

"Perhaps. We will see what we can do. Now what about Arthur?"

That was the tricky situation. Their was not telling what the Sword of the Morning would do if the "Baratheon Usurper" was in the same area as him. Robert had been the one to kill Prince Rhaegar, after all - Arthur's best friend and the son of the Mad King. Arthur would not want to leave Jon with Robert close by. He had not even visited his family in Dorne for that matter, preferring to say in the North by Jon's side. It didn't matter if Arthur and Jon didn't in actuality share blood. He was his uncle no matter what.

Cateyln thought for a moment. "Perhaps we can have him travel and stay at Torrhen's Square for a time, with the Tallharts? It is near Winterfell and they would happily accept Arthur as their guest."

Ned smiled. "You always think of everything, Cat. Jon will stay at Winterfell, though we will try and keep Jon separate from the King. Arthur will go to Torrhen's Square during that time, that's it if we can convince him."

"He always listens to you, Ned. I worry for Jon. He'll not understand why his uncle is departing."

"I will speak to him. Jon is a lot more mature than people realise for his age."

"I think that comes from both the fathers in his life."

"He certainly did not get it from Lyanna." Ned japed, though she could detect some sadness at the mention of his deceased sister.

"I knew that would please you," she said."We should send word to your brother on the Wall."

"Yes, of course," he agreed. "Ben will want to be here. Lyanna and the children will want to see him after so long. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird." Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. "Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?"

"I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them."

"Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes," he said. "It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare."

"The queen's brothers are also in the party of the King," she told him.

Ned grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen's family,  
Catelyn knew."Well, if the price for Robert's company is an infestation of Lannisters, so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court."

"Where the king goes, the realm follows," she said.

"It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman's teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now?"

"Prince Tommen is seven," she corrected him. "The same age as Bran. Please, Ned, guard your tongue. The Lannister woman is our queen, and her pride is said to grow with every passing year."

Ned squeezed her hand. "There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? Gather the children and set them out helping the servants. On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hind."

* * *

_**So, The Dragon Prince is back with a new name and a entirely rewritten plot and story. You may be wondering why the first chapter looks so different from the first chapter of the original. Well, I wanted to do something different from before. If this chapter seems like set-up, well you would be right. **_

_**Thanks you guys for the bucketload of messages requesting me to bring back the story. Please review this chapter, follow and favourite.**_

_**If you have any requests, suggestions or questions, send me a PM. **_


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